


Candles

by elevenfortyseven



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, M/M, Oneshot, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenfortyseven/pseuds/elevenfortyseven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angelo's carried a flame for Sherlock ever since they first met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candles

Ah, there he was. Angelo could spot Sherlock Holmes from a mile off – an imposing figure like that was hard to miss. The street was darkening now, the evening shadows held at bay by the orange glow of street lamps and the consulting detective strode through the pockets of night as if he owned them. Seeing him again bought a smile to Angelo’s face.

A smile that slipped and shattered when he saw a short figure trot up to Sherlock’s side.

They were obviously together. They were close enough to the restaurant now for Angelo to see the expressions on their faces, and they were painfully, obviously, together. A joke had just been shared; the small man laughing brightly up at Sherlock, who returned his look with an amused smile. Such an easy, carefree smile that almost had no right to be upon Sherlock’s features. In all the years he had known Sherlock, he had never seen such a smile. And he knew Sherlock’s smiles.

The pair were almost at the door now and Angelo hurried through the restaurant, jabbing his thumb at Billy to signal that his break was over and to get his arse back in there, until he was out the back finally able to breathe. A cleansing rush of crisp, clean air flowed through his body, clearing his mind. He ran a hand over his face, attempting to ease the tension that was building and erase the bubbling feelings inside him.

Sherlock had three smiles. The first was when he wanted something, a wide, closed mouth smile that failed to reach his eyes but always managed to melt a heart. The second was reserved for when something genuinely exciting happened – another case, some unexpected evidence, a serial killer – his eyes lit up, his fists clenched in excitement and his smile was so wide you could see his canines. Finally, there was a smug, self-satisfactory smile, for when he finished a case. A small victory smirk, one that revelled in his intelligence. A brief delight before back to work.

So where had this fourth come from and what did it mean?

Angelo slipped down against the wall and raised his thumb to his mouth, chewing on the nail. Sherlock’s smile was still fresh in his mind, as was the laughing face of the sandy-haired man next to him. Both were obviously together, and if Sherlock’s changed demeanour was anything to go by, they were together in more ways than one.

He loosed a deep sigh into the air, watching as the cloud dissipated. It had never been more than fanciful thinking on his part, he knew. Sherlock had never appeared interested, had never led him on. The only smile Angelo had received was the first.

He wouldn’t fool himself. That was the only smile he’d ever get.

A few full, deep breaths later, Angelo stood and rested a hand on the door that led back to the restaurant. There was no point feeling this way, he told himself. Sherlock wouldn’t - _couldn’t_ – reciprocate, Angelo knew. He had always known. Normal relationships just weren’t for Sherlock – to interest a great man like him, you yourself had to be pretty spectacular. And Angelo just wasn’t that person.

If Sherlock had found someone, then Angelo would just have to be happy for him. If he couldn’t be happy, then what else was there to be? A moping, love struck lonely heart? Whilst that might have suited lesser men, Angelo knew that there was no way he’d be able to pine over Sherlock forever and the only option he could take was just to get on with his life. He might have feelings for Sherlock, and it might hurt like a knife twisting into his heart every time he saw them together, but it was something that he’d have to live with. Something he’d have to be happy for. He’d have to be, otherwise he’d drown.

He’d have to be.

So it was with another final, steadying breath, and a conscious effort to stop his trembling hands that he pushed open the swinging door into the restaurant. Armed with an obviously fake smile pasted on his face usually reserved for the more difficult customers, though confident that he wouldn’t be called out on it, he made his way towards the front, where Sherlock had requested to be sat.

“Sherlock!” Bright, jolly, what his customers had come to expect from him – what Sherlock had come to expect from him. How could Angelo be anything but, despite what he was feeling inside? “Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and for your date.” Bright and jolly. Confident. So what if he wavered a little as he called him his date? Sherlock’s attention was on the house that they had been told to keep an eye on, the case taking up all of his concentration. Angelo would be surprised if Sherlock had even heard him.

Perhaps that was it? The way his mind could focus solely on one problem, working away at it, not giving up until it was solved – the passion he exuded whenever battling with a case couldn’t fail to incite you. Perhaps that was what drew Angelo to him?

He was forced to tear his gaze away from Sherlock when he asked if the man he came with wanted anything to eat. Sherlock didn’t eat, that was a given, though Angelo would never stop asking, if only to hear his deep, purring voice decline. Perhaps that was another reason.

“I'm not his date.” That was what he said. He wasn’t his date. The denial was feeble, even Angelo could smell the truth behind it. Maybe they weren’t together, not in the conventional sense, not yet. But it would happen – the man couldn’t just magic up a new smile for Sherlock without being someone important, someone special. It would happen, he was sure of it. The small surge of hope that he had no control over was forcibly squashed down. There was no use even trying to pretend like the man was – they would end up together, even if neither of them knew it yet.

“This man got me off a murder charge.” He felt the need to somehow big Sherlock up – the man had no concept of dating, no experience in it as far as Angelo could tell. He’d be his wing man, he owed him that much.

 “This is Angelo. Three years ago I proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was elsewhere, house-breaking.”

“He cleared my name.”

“I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?”

“Nothing,” he spared, barely glancing at Sherlock before looking intently back at the shorter man. If by the end of the night they weren’t together, he wasn’t doing his job right. As much as he hated the thought of Sherlock being with another man, especially if he pushed them together, he just couldn’t keep seeing Sherlock like this. He was burning himself out without someone to look after him, to stop him when he went too far, to _love_ him. “But for this man, I'd have gone to prison.”

 “You did go to prison.”

Angelo rolled his eyes – Sherlock could be so stubborn. Couldn’t he see that he was trying to help him? Of course he couldn’t. For a man so obsessed with observing everything, he was remarkably blind. Time to be less subtle.

“I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic.”

“I'm not his date!” He spared a wry glance towards the man, before leaving to grab a candle from another table. There was just something about the detective that drew you in, some magnetic pull that Angelo couldn’t escape. He knew the effects of it and he knew that it was something that you just couldn’t avoid. It would creep up on you and, like quicksand, the more you fought it, the more it drew you in. This man Sherlock was with had already been caught in it. Perhaps he didn’t know it, but later, when he had time to see just how brilliant a man Sherlock really was, he’d already be over his head. There’s no point in struggling, Angelo knew that.

With the first look, the first smile, the first wink, the first spoken word, you were caught.

And when you finally do realise, it’ll be far too late to change anything. The quicksand will have you, drawing you in relentlessly. 

He almost pitied the man, though his envy tipped the scales heavily. That was it. The rush you had when you realised just how deep you are, just how far you’d fallen, the knowledge that you couldn’t claw yourself out, no matter how hard you tried. This man had all that to look forward to, whether he knew it or not, and Angelo envied that, because this time it would happen to Sherlock too.

In some ways, it already had. This man had a smile, all to himself. A smile that he had created, one especially for him. This man was falling, but Sherlock was falling right along with him. It was now just a race to see who would reach the ground first.

Perhaps the candle would help guide them there. Angelo allowed himself a small smile as he left them to their devices. They’d be back, he knew, and he had plenty of candles ready.


End file.
